Home is Where
by Ardin
Summary: KIBBS. Gibbs wakes one morning to find that he has an unexpected vistor.


**Home is Where... **By Ardin

**Disclaimer:** I don't own any of it, well except you know the idea, but I am most definitely looking forward to the series continuation in less than two weeks. WOOHOO!

**Spoilers: **I don't think there are any, but everything up to Twilight is fair game.

**A/N:** I know it's been quite a while since I've posted anything new, but that's just because I'm working on a hundred-chapter-plus fic that absolutely cannot be posted until the whole thing is done (it'll be a while still I'm afraid).

I decided to take a short break from that and get back into the swing of KIBBS goodness. This is a little disjointed, as occasionally my other fics have been, but, as in the past, that is because this is someone's thoughts (Gibbs'). For anyone who's ever really spent time considering the total randomness (it's a word!) of one's thought process, you'll understand the kind of stilted narrative I was going for. In this case imagine an outside reading his thoughts as he recalls the events that are told herein.

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The first morning that he had come downstairs and found her on his couch, he was, to say the least, a bit surprised. He hadn't heard her come in and despite the fact that he kept the door unlocked specifically for his team, he would have, prior to that day, bet his boat that none of them would ever use it.

For several long moments, he watched her sleep from where he stood behind the dark beige piece of furniture. Even in her sleep she seemed to be able to sense his eyes upon her and began to stir. He waited expectantly for her to come fully to consciousness, wholly expecting that she would explain her presence once she had.

Without opening her eyes, she sat up slowly, turning away from where he stood in what he assumed was a deliberate attempt to put off the inevitable conversation. She stretched slightly and rubbed her hands down over her face as he watched silently, his face marked by a confused, yet entertained smile. When she finally stood and turned to face him, he was shocked by the expression that marred her normally beautiful features.

Her mouth was twisted down in a worried grimace while her eyes, lined with dark shadows that suggested she hadn't slept well for many days, silently implored him not to question her unexpected presence in his home.

His first instinct was to ignore that look; to ask her very directly what she thought she was doing, but the slight pain that he could detect in her otherwise guarded expression stopped him. Giving her what he hoped was an understanding smile, he held her gaze as he watched some of her worry dissipate. Only when she gave him an answer grin did he turn away, heading into the kitchen for his morning coffee fix. He had barely gotten the machine turned on before he heard the front door open and close behind her.

He shook the entire event off as some gigantic cosmic aberration: pushing it from his mind and making a concentrated effort at work not to mention it in any way shape or form. He couldn't even begin to guess what would have driven his usually unflappable and collected co-worker to his home, but suspected that it could only possibly be a one time thing. He was therefore more than a little surprised when it happened again and then again.

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By the forth time he had found her on his couch he'd gotten over the surprise a little. He stuck with the unspoken promise he'd made that first morning, never asking why she showed up at his place in the middle of the night every couple of weeks. Instead he would offer her a smile as he passed through the living room on his way to the kitchen, knowing full well that she would be gone before he came out again.

She kept her entrances silent and he appreciated her efforts to keep from waking him.

It wasn't until her seventh household invasion that he actually heard her come in. It was an unusually cold night for DC in April and he had gone to the hall closet to grab another blanket when he heard the soft sounds of her entrance. With a small smile he had pulled a second blanket out of the closet and headed downstairs, knowing that the throw he kept on the couch would not be enough to keep her warm.

She had turned as his steps resounded through the otherwise silent room. Her expression belied a certain level of panic, as though even after four months she expected him to change his mind about their silent arrangement. He gave her his usual calming smile, crossing the room to hand her the blanket before turning to head back to bed. He wasn't expecting any kind of response to this sudden change in their pattern and was therefore surprised when he got one.

"Gibbs." Her quiet voice stopped him at the base of the stairs. "Thanks." He wasn't sure whether she was thanking him for the blanket or for letting her stay and he didn't really care.

Turning so he could look over his shoulder, he grinned widely and nodded in acknowledgement of her thanks. Her grinned matched his as he spoke while continuing up the stairs. "Goodnight, Katie."

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Somewhere around twenty-one he lost count of the number of times he'd come downstairs to find her on the couch. But almost a year after her first visit, he came out of the kitchen to the unusual sight of her still there, a confused and slightly worried expression on her face. When he raised a questioning eyebrow at her, she gave him a sheepish grin.

"I can't seem to find my car keys. I'm not sure what I did with them last night." Her tone was slightly embarrassed, though he thought that it might be less about the fact that she had lost her keys and more because she hadn't left yet.

While he'd been happy at first with their arrangement because her leaving quickly meant there were no awkward moments, he was suddenly aware, as she stood with a guilty expression on her face, that he didn't want her to feel uncomfortable in his home. He wanted her to know that he didn't mind waking up to find her on his couch.

"It's no big deal. You're here, which means your keys have to be here somewhere." He gave her a large grin which she half returned, confusion written all over her face. He made a mental note to tease her about that later. "I'll help you look for them later, but first I want breakfast. You like omelets?" Her confused look only deepened as she nodded silently in response and watched him move back into the kitchen.

Breakfast had been an enjoyable time once they got past the slight awkwardness to start. Another silent agreement made the subject of work off limits, but much to both of their surprise that didn't slow down the conversation at all. She'd helped him clean up and he'd found her keys under the couch.

And every other morning that she was there after that, breakfast was part of the routine even if it was just a quick gulp of coffee before she dashed to her apartment for a change of clothes.

After that first breakfast together he noticed that her appearances became more frequent. He would find her downstairs at least once a week and while he occasionally considered asking her what was going on, most of the time he pushed the thought away, unwilling to make a big deal out of something that he was in no way upset about.

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For another three months their pattern didn't vary in the slightest. He would wake in the middle of the night, his subconscious mind attuned to her comings. Lying in bed, he would listen as she moved quietly around the ground floor for a few moments before settling down on the couch. Once the house was silent again, he would roll over and go back to sleep, content in the knowledge that he wouldn't be eating alone the next morning.

Throughout the course of his life he'd had ample opportunity to become acquainted with the idea of hindsight being twenty-twenty, his three short-lived divorces being primary examples.

The redecorating of his living room was another good one. Because thinking back on it, he realizes that he probably should have talked to her before he went about getting a new couch. Of course the problem with that would have been that it would have required that he actually talk to her about the fact that every couple of days she would end up asleep on his sofa, and they'd already decided not to talk about that. He still probably should have found a way to bring it up.

As usual her arrival in his residence brought him out of a deep sleep, but unlike usual the soft sounds of her movement didn't abate. Admittedly his mind was still a little slow from sleep, but he probably should have realized right away what the problem was.

After roughly ten minutes of the on and off sounds that denoted movement and lack of sleep, he threw the covers off and made his way drowsily downstairs, oblivious to the fact that he was only wearing his boxers. Walking into the living room, he was assaulted with a powerful sense of déjà vu as he found her lying on the couch much as she had been that first morning.

Except that this time she was awake.

And glaring at the ceiling.

But just like that first morning, she sat up with her back to him, hands running over her face. Her frustration was evident at her next words.

"This is the most uncomfortable couch I have ever tried to sleep on. And considering some of the places I crashed during college that -" Her voice abruptly cut off as she turned to face him and took in what he was wearing.

His expression, which had been mildly guilty as he remembered that he hadn't told her about the new couch, turned amused as he watched her eyes travel down his toned and muscled body before snapping back up to his face. As he watched her blush a gorgeous crimson, he added another check mark to his "to tease about later" list.

As much as he would have loved to give her a hard time about it he was considerably more concerned with getting a decent amount of sleep then with keeping the blush on her cheeks.

With one last wide grin in recognition of the fact that she was trying to keep her eyes on anything except him, he turned back to the stairs. His words were only barely coherent through his large yawn as he began to ascend, but her steps sounding behind him made him certain she'd heard.

"Guest room is upstairs. Second door on the right."

The disappointment he felt when he came downstairs the next morning and found the couch empty came as a bit of a shock, but was quickly squelched as he watched her come down the stairs a few minutes later. For a moment he allowed himself to imagine that she was coming from his room and not the guest room, but he quickly pushed the thought out of his head, knowing that it could lead no where good.

But despite the knowledge that that kind of thought was inappropriate and unreasonable, he couldn't seem to stop it from recurring pretty much every time she stayed at his place. And it was made worse by a number of little things that occurred in apparent conjunction with the change in her sleeping arrangements, the most prevalent of which were the appearance of a second toothbrush in the upstairs bathroom and his discovery of a number of sets of her clothing in the guest closet.

Also central to his inappropriate Kate filled thought process was an event that took place not long after her move upstairs.

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Throughout the previous year and a half, she had not once arrived before he had headed to bed for the night until that day.

He was down in the basement working on his boat, tool belt slung around his hips and a mug of bourbon close at hand, when he heard the front door open and her familiar footsteps above him. He was sure that it must have been immediately obvious that he was still awake since the lights were on and the basement door hung open on its hinges. Her steps paused briefly just outside of it before she entered, descending to the basement floor calmly and confidently.

At the bottom she paused again briefly to send him a bright smile before turning her attention to the wooden masterpiece taking shape before her. Just like so many of those early morning they didn't talk. She sat happily on the side workbench watching his slow but steady progress and sipping from her own mug as he worked. When he finally removed the tool belt at around one in the morning, she immediately understood his intentions and made her way upstairs ahead of him, stopping outside her room just long enough to wish him a goodnight.

Snapshots of the night seemed to play through his mind for weeks afterward. Her standing just inside the basement door looking down at him. Her lips against the rim of his USMC mug as she watched him shape a slat for the outer hull. Her gentle smile as she wished him sweet dreams. He couldn't seem to rid himself of the images and was less and less sure each day that he even wanted them gone.

Even with his thoughts becoming increasingly Kate-centric each day, it was another six months before things changed again.

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He's willing to admit to himself that the first time they shared his bed was nothing like he'd always imagined or hoped it would be. There was no all-night love making or even fast, hot sex. Just the simple fact that her room was being painted and he knew how much she hated the couch, so he left his bedroom door open and a note of apology on hers.

There was also no clichéd awkward waking in each others arms. He had, as expected, woken to her entry and stayed awake until she had crawled into bed next to him. He'd then promptly rolled to face away from her and tried to pretend she wasn't in his bed, well aware that he would never get to sleep if he kept thinking about her rather close proximity. When he woke the next morning, it was to find that neither of them had shifted during the night and the unspoken halves of the bed had been fastidiously maintained.

It wasn't until the sixth time that they shared a bed (despite the fact that the painting project had been done for almost a month) that she ended up in his arms and then it was only because she'd woken at around four in a cold sweat from an apparently horrible nightmare about which she wouldn't give him any details.

And he didn't ask for them. He had merely pulled her tightly against his chest, one hand wrapped firmly around her waist as the other stroked softly down her back. Murmuring quiet words of comfort, he had stayed awake until well after she had fallen back to sleep, wanting to make sure that there wouldn't be a relapse before he drifted off himself.

Just like so much else about their arrangement, they didn't talk about it in the morning (or at all). Upon waking he had simply released her from his grasp and given her a smile, his eyes clouded with concern until she smiled back and nodded a silent thanks before crawling out of bed and moving toward the bathroom.

They'd eaten breakfast as though nothing had changed and went about their usual routine of easy conversation and company. She'd left the house for work about twenty minutes before him, giving him ample time to contemplate whether this newest arrangement constituted another permanent change in their sleeping habits or if, the next time she was there, they would once again be on opposite sides of the bed with a firm, though invisble, wall between. Or worse, at least in his mind, back to being in different beds altogether.

He needn't have worried. The next four months were marked by her continued, if rather sporadic, presence not just in his bed, but now in his arms.

And the change made it that much more difficult to push all his inappropriate thoughts of her to the back of his mind. Especially since he was becoming less and less sure that they really were inappropriate. It was hard to think that the feelings that he'd kept buried for so long were not returned when her head was tucked happily in the crook of his neck, her breath soft against his skin as she slept. Every day that he woke to find her in his arms was one more day that he seriously considered just throwing in the towel and telling her exactly how much he wanted her.

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Almost exactly two years after she had spent her first night at his place, the phone on his kitchen counter rang just as they were finishing the dishes after breakfast. He answered only grudgingly, unhappy that the small amount of non-work time that he had with her was being interrupted, especially since he was sure that anything at work could wait the twenty minutes until he had actually arrived.

His depressed demeanor turned around quickly, however, as he discovered what Tony was calling about. "The Director is giving us the day off. And Monday, too. Something about our latest psych evals and unhealthy stress levels. So we have a four day weekend."

Hanging up the phone, he had made his way into the living room where Kate was pulling her coat on and grabbing her keys. Filling her in on what Tony had said took only a minute or so and he had given her a broad smile as he concluded.

"Guess I don't have any more excuses to keep putting off all the yard work that needs to be done around here." His smile turned to a confused frown as he watched her return her keys to the coffee table beside his and her coat to the hall closet.

Her answer to his questioning gaze had brought his smile quickly back. "As long as it doesn't involve mowing the lawn, I'll help."

That night, after a long day of weeding, clipping, and mowing (at least on his part), she had crawled into bed next to him, curling up contentedly by his side as usual. He, however, had lain awake for hours after, contemplating exactly where they were and what they were doing.

He wasn't sure of exactly what was pushing him over the edge; it might have been something as little as the fact that before that point they had never actually spent the entirety of a day in each others company. Or it might have been the accumulated sum of the previous two years experiences with her around. Whatever it was he was finally at the end of his rope.

Even after two years of this behavior, they had never talked about it. Their conversations were always kept safely away from the fact that she slept at his place at least once a week and sometimes as much as eight or nine times a month. That night as he watched her sleep, he decided that maybe it was time to change that.

With his decision made he let himself fall asleep.

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The next morning went by in the exact same fashion as every one in the past. They prepared breakfast together in their usual silence, no words really necessary - he knew what she liked in her eggs and she knew how he liked his coffee - and their meal consisted of their normal light conversation.

Meal finished and dishes done, she had moved toward the door, collecting keys, purse, and coat along the way. It wasn't until she had actually opened the front door to leave that he acted.

His hand caught her wrist gently before she could take her first step outside and she turned, confused, to face him. Their eyes locked and, without speaking, an entire conversation seemed to flash between them. He could read in her eyes that she understood the larger meaning behind his bizarre behavior, and when he did speak, his words were nothing but the simple, honest truth.

"I don't ever want you to leave again." His voice was low and sincere, his hand giving her wrist a gentle tug to bring her away from the still open door.

She didn't hesitate for even a second before replying. "Okay."

He let go of her wrist then, taking a step forward so that their bodies were almost touching. His mouth was twisted up in a slight smirk and she smiled up at him in response as he brought one hand up to caress her cheek.

His tone was amused as his next words filled the air between them. "Do you realize that you have been sleeping in my bed for the last six months and I have yet to kiss you?"

"I'm aware of the fact." Her expression turning challenging as she continued, "You planning on doing something about that?"

Thumb lightly stroking her cheek, he smiled tenderly at her and nodded. His other hand reached around her and pushed the still open door closed as he leaned down to her. The quiet thump of the door in its frame and his mumbled words were the last things she heard before his lips found hers.

"No more leaving."

**THE END**

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**A/N:** Liked it? Loved it? Despised it and think I should never write again? LET ME KNOW!


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